Sisters and Best Friends
by no escape from reality
Summary: “Is she gone?” Petunia asked. Her mother would have liked to think that it was a sad question, but she knew that dream was as unrealistic as going to live in a magical world with her younger daughter. She sighed because she could hear the unspoken “yet” a
1. Sisters and Best Friends

There it goes. That's the last of it. Every last bit of resolve and restraint that I have is gone. It is going six feet under with my father's casket. Tears begin to stream down my face. They start out hot, but they turn cold before they reach my chin.

My sister is next to me, and I feel her stiffen as the dirt thrown on top makes a deafening _thump_ and then skitters down the sides.

It obviously had the same effect on me, because beside me, James squeezes my hand in an attempt to be reassuring. I reach out to Petunia, my only sister, the only family that I have left, but she stiffens even more and pulls away.

I'm not sure what hurts more, having my father's heart condition take him away from us, or even in the hour we need each other most, not being able to scale the tremendous walls my sister has built around herself to maybe find some comfort in comforting her.

I sit, because everyone else sits, I cry, because everyone else cries, and I shake hands and say thank you for the condolences of people that I have never known, because that is what I am supposed to do. When someone tells me that I look just like my mother, I feel like someone has ripped off a scab. Of all the days to say something like that, the day that is so familiar to the day that my sister and I last stood side by side, so close together. I smile and say thank you, and that yes, we do miss her very much.

I feel like I'm floating as I walk over to the cars. I can hear the sound of my heels on the pavement walkway, but I cannot feel my feet or legs moving to make the sound. James is beside me again, holding my hand. Petunia is in front of me, standing strong on her own.

That is just like her, though. She was always strong, always more independent than I was. When we were younger, I was so excited to be invited to a sleepover. Petunia was always sleeping away from home, and then it was finally my turn. She held my hand, much the way that James is holding it now, comfortingly, and lovingly, as she walked me down the block to my friend's house. She knocked on the door, handed me my pillow and told me to have a good night.

She came back and got me when I called crying a few hours later because I was afraid to fall asleep because I heard a noise. She carried my pillow and held my hand back down the block, and when we got home, she told me that no matter what, she would always come get me.

Now, though, as I sit next to her in the car, she does not look at me, or acknowledge that I am sitting on the seat with her. Our hands brush when I'm putting on my seat belt, but when I look up she is staring blankly out the window.

We took a road trip, once, when I was nine, and she was twelve. We all got into my dad's station wagon and drove for what seemed like hours. At night, we would lie down together on the back seat and talk about all of the fantastic things that we would see when the sun came up.

Before I fell asleep, I remember her telling me not to worry about the lions in the zoo, because even though they look scary, they couldn't get me. The next day, when we saw the lions, I was amazed at how big they were, and afraid to go right up to the glass. Petunia held my hand and said that we would do it together because we were sisters and best friends.

It seems silly to me now, as I sit on the couch in my dad's old living room eating cheese and crackers and listening to people tell stories about him through their tears and sniffles, that I could have grown up in this house, with the woman sitting next to me and not even know her today. I do not know her favorite color, food, or song. I do not know where she works, and what she does for a living. I know that her name is Petunia, and that her parent's were my parents, and that once upon a time we were sisters and best friends.

I also know that she is the strongest, most stubborn person that I have ever meant. She has decided that we are no longer sisters, and I cannot do a thing to change her mind.

When I return home, James hugs me and tells me that she doesn't know what she's missing. And it's true, but I don't know what I'm missing either, and it's killing me.

---

Well, this is certainly sad. I felt like I needed to write something to get the creative juices flowing. (And the motivation juices, too. Spring semester starts Monday.)


	2. Walking Tall

Her mother walked tall, an obvious attempt to be strong while her youngest daughter went through a solid brick wall to live a life that she could not even dream of. She did dream of it, though. She dreamed of what it would be like to live in a fantastic castle with changing staircases, harmless ghosts, and enchanted ceilings. She would love to spend all of her days dreaming about this place, or better yet going with her daughter on the adventure of a lifetime, but the reminder of her reality of a normal person, a non magical person, sat in the backseat of her station wagon.

"Is she gone?" Petunia asked. Her mother would have liked to think that it was a sad question, but she knew that dream was as unrealistic as going to live in a magical world with her younger daughter. She sighed because she could hear the unspoken "yet" at the end of that sentence.

"Yes, she's gone."

The smile that she saw on her daughter's face broke her heart. It was not a sad smile, nor was it was "good for her" smile. It was the smile that you get when you see that the smartest person in class got a D on a homework assignment. It was the smile that you get when you realize that your biggest competition in life was out of the game.

She chose not to say anything.

She chose no to say anything when Lily returned from school for the first Christmas and Petunia would not come out of her room if "that freak" was going to be there, too. She chose not to say anything when Petunia ripped the pages out of Lily's school book, silently giving Lily the money to replace it the next time they went into London.

Was it wrong of her to want to keep the peace? Was she really doing her daughter wrong? Both of them?

These thoughts often came to her at night when she had a hard time sleeping. If she had said something, would things have turned out differently? Would Petunia be this hateful to anyone different than herself, and would it be her fault? Would Lily go through her life allowing people to step on, quietly taking whatever was dished out to her?

She didn't know the answer, but she felt better when she pretended she was sleeping under an enchanted ceiling in a magical castle far away from all of her problems.


End file.
